


you are the sound that I hear

by paxlux



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-19
Updated: 2014-08-19
Packaged: 2018-02-13 20:21:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,063
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2163963
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/paxlux/pseuds/paxlux
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The sky is half-sunshine, half-clouds when Stiles goes to the grocery store.</p>
            </blockquote>





	you are the sound that I hear

**Author's Note:**

> Another rarity. Set early on in Teen Wolf, when everything was relatively normal. Written very quickly, I am so sorry.
> 
> Please do not repost anywhere else without my express authorization, this includes PDFs and downloadable files.

The sky is half-sunshine, half-clouds when Stiles goes to the grocery store. He keeps glancing up, expecting it to pour at any minute because it always rains when he goes to the grocery store, it’s possible he picked up a curse somewhere along the way. It wouldn’t surprise him, all these things he has now thanks to Supernatural Fun Time.

The wind is kicking up leaves in the parking lot and he crunches a few under his sneakers, feeling a little delight and a little vicious, which is nice, a change of pace from his usual Oh God Oh God We’re All Going To Die. Lately, he’s decided to be a bit defiant about it though, it’s become I’m Too Pretty To Die and that’s his bit of happiness in the midst of everything, he’ll fight back because c’mon, his slamming bod and sparkling personality are a light upon the world, he can’t die now, it’d be a tragic shame of monumental proportions.

Before entering the grocery store, he surreptitiously does a Jedi wave and the doors open and Stiles will never be too old to do that, he pumps a fist. He can’t control the full moon, he can’t control the next nightmare, he can’t control whatever beastie decides to roll through town, but he can be damned delusional about Jedi controlling the doors to the grocery store.

It’s a nice feeling.

Digging his list out of his pocket, he grabs a cart and immediately drives into Derek. What, why did he jump in front of Stiles’s cart, what.

“Is this suicide by grocery cart, why did you jump in front of me, are there monsters in the produce aisle,” Stiles hisses, all he wants to do is buy the stuff on his list, it can’t be _that fucking hard_ , a single hour to trawl the aisles of the store and grab things not on the list, like Hamburger Helper and that box of Oreos and pizza rolls. Maybe some KitKats at the checkout line.

That’s all he asks. KitKats. C’mon.

Derek raises an eyebrow. “Uh, I’m buying groceries? I need food? My fridge is empty?” 

Stiles approves of all those question marks, though they are a bit too sassy for his taste. “Look here, mister, that is completely fine and appropriate. A starving werewolf is an angry werewolf and that’s a bad thing. So fine, go get your food and if there _are_ monsters in the produce aisle, I’d rather not know, I want to buy sweet potatoes in peace or surprise terror, whichever happens first.”

Nodding as if this is wise, Derek waves a hand, directing Stiles around him. “Please, Your Highness, go on. Far be it from me to forbid you from getting sweet potatoes.”

Stiles gives him a wide berth and does not sneak a look at his ass, Derek does so love dark jeans and dark jeans do so love his ass, _never mind_ , Stiles gives him a haughty nod, “Good day to you, sir.”

Derek smirks, leaning on his cart. “Have fun, Stiles.”

Nose in the air, Stiles makes a beeline to the sweet potatoes and gives himself five minutes. When he turns around, Derek’s disappeared.

He breathes out slow.

“Good job, old sport, can’t let him know. It’s all about misinformation. And propaganda,” Stiles says to himself, trying on an accent and discarding it as he squeezes tomatoes.

His mind wanders as he marks things off the list, pen tucked behind his ear, Derek said his fridge was empty, why would it be empty, he lives alone, and—

Oh, well, the pack is there almost every day. Eating. Constantly eating. Scott would eat the Stilinskis out of house and home if Stiles let him over every day. Mrs. McCall has to order three pizzas for the two of them and jealously guards her single pizza. She told Stiles’s dad one night she thought Scott might eat the box some time.

Their laughter was totally called for. Stiles has to hoard his fries at lunch, defending them with knife and fork. He gets it.

Stiles sneaks down a few aisles until he catches sight of Derek, cart filling up fast with food. He’s buying not only for himself, but for the pack and holy shit, Stiles almost smacks his head, then almost smacks into a toilet paper pyramid display, they hardly ever bring food over, what a bunch of pricks they are.

Well, the wolves are. Stiles eats a normal human amount. Rapidly. And often. 

He groans and fortunately, Derek has turned the corner because Stiles is having a harsh light of day talk with himself.

Then he has an idea.

He speeds through the rest of the shopping, picking up extra stuff and yeah, he’s on a budget, but he can stretch this, he’ll make it work, that t-shirt he’d been eyeing at the comic book store can wait, shit, he’s got enough t-shirts to last a while and the Sheriff’s salads aren’t expensive, that’s all he’s getting for the next two weeks, salads, especially after that secret hamburger he thinks Stiles doesn’t know about, aha, payback’s rather cheap actually.

Stiles throws everything into the Jeep and jaywalk-runs across the street to the pharmacy. It’s sad that he’s become intimate with the layout of the pharmacy, where everything is on what aisle and it’s sad and somehow he’s become the cleric in this MMORPG, what, no, he’s a warrior-healer, that’s better, he’ll kick their asses and then heal them right back up enough to kick their asses.

He peers out the window and doesn’t see the Camaro anywhere, so he’s safe for now.

It’s not entirely altruistic what he’s doing, _not entirely_ , and his brain tells him it’s possible he’s a greedy human being, it could be his supervillain origin story, but he doesn’t care, he’s going to do this and the consequences be damned, the result will be interesting for sure.

He dumps everything into the little red basket, like he’s a modern day fairy tale character. For kicks, he grabs a copy of this month’s Men’s Health and Yoga Journal and Martha Stewart. And for himself, he gets a bag of those mini KitKats. Hell to the yes.

The cashier looks at him a little strange, it’s not like Stiles is outfitting the hospital, he simply has quite a few things in his cart, _thank you very much_ , he gives a sniff, helping out a friend, yessiree, nothing else to it.

To top it off, because life should be fun and confusing, he gets a cheap bouquet from the florist next door. Nothing fancy, the keyword is cheap, it’s all fun and games until someone gets serious about it, y’know, before rejection can happen.

Stiles is a trickster. Really.

He very carefully breaks the speed limit on the way home, throws his groceries wherever they belong, and gets to work.

It takes two hours and he cranks his music, singing as he goes, if you aren’t singing Bohemian Rhapsody at the top of your lungs, you ain’t livin’, l-i-v-i-n.

There’s no official pack business tonight, the moon is a quarter moon, the sun is in Aquarius or whatever, all’s quiet on the forest front, there haven’t been any strange smells in the past week (beyond Stiles’s laundry, that is inadmissible in court), so Stiles counts it a win.

And breathes out.

His fingers tap on his phone, he’s not nervous, maybe a bit overexcited, no, it’s not that. He’s not afraid of Derek, long past that, thrown headlong into something very different, who knew his type was tall, dark, and snarky with big teeth and paws occasionally.

Who knew.

Stiles texts before he can change his mind. Derek replies quickly and Stiles shuts his brain down before it can analyze that.

Derek’s home. That’s all Stiles needed to know.

He piles back into the Jeep and very carefully observes the speed limit, he has things that require balancing and as much as he loves his baby, the Jeep isn’t exactly steady as she goes.

“Uh, little help here,” he says out loud, then texts it, _little help_ , he doesn’t say please, that’d be weird. That’s just how they are.

Derek comes down the stairs like he’s wary of a trap and Stiles is offended, as if, how dare he, what, no.

“Help me get this inside,” Stiles says in lieu of an explanation, that can happen indoors so he can be mortified away from the public. 

“Do I want to—“

“Yes, you want to know, but that will happen inside, chop chop, let’s go.”

“You gonna tip me?”

Stiles looks at him flatly. “Just go.”

Derek rolls his eyes and manages to get all the bags in one swoop. 

Stiles is emphatically not impressed. Fucking werewolves.

Inside, Derek is already pulling out things, Stiles will bet a million dollars he rips wrapping paper and shakes presents too. Then he doesn’t ask, so Stiles starts talking.

“I brought you a constructed lasagna, _not cooked_ , constructed, there’s a difference. And meatballs with spaghetti and sauce. Yes, I know how to do something other than Italian. There’s a sort of enchilada casserole too. Just freeze or heat. Don’t eat everything raw, that’s disgusting. Whatever.”

He throws bags of chips and boxes of Cheez-Its, a whole snack tray of vegetables goes on the counter, and he doesn’t offer the bag of mini KitKats, merely shows them, he might keep them, he hasn’t decided yet. Some other snacky things, and French onion dip and queso dip, you have to have both, and oh, there’s a jalapeno cheese dip only for Stiles for when he’s over. 

“For pack nights,” he says and Derek doesn’t say anything, he simply nods, and Stiles opens the pharmacy bags.

“I’m refilling the first aid kit and making a second one, you go through a lot of bandages, dude,” Stiles explains, fiddling with a box of Hello Kitty band-aids, “and they didn’t have Ninja Turtles, you get these and Muppets, so just deal.”

“Muppets are great,” Derek says, quiet, and Stiles is thinking fast, he’s possibly made a mistake.

“I even got a good ol’ ace bandage for sprains, I know they don’t last long on you stupid werewolves, fuck your healing factor, but whatever, it’s there, maybe for splints that last five minutes or something. And here’s some reading materials. And safety pins because why not, they’re handy and useful and I can’t tell you how many things I’ve held together with safety pins, Mom used ‘em for everything, and.”

Oh, the flowers. He’d forgotten those.

“You need some color in this Palace of Doom and Gloom, dude. It’s practically a morgue in here. Spruce it up a bit. Here, they even smell nice.”

Good save, Stiles. Thanks, Stiles. High five, Stiles.

Derek looks over everything, hands on his hips, and his eyes are unreadable. He twists his mouth, as if he’s thinking, so Stiles opens the mini KitKats. Might as well have some chocolate before he heads home and buries himself in his blankets, not to emerge from his safe cocoon until Monday morning.

Then Derek says something strange. “Thanks, Stiles.”

“What.” Stiles is suspicious, accidentally breaking the KitKat.

“Thanks. I mean it. I didn’t realize you—”

“What.”

Now, Derek smirks, this side of a smile, and he reaches over, splits the KitKat and lets Stiles splutter as he puts a piece in his mouth.

“This is how you thank me?” Stiles demands, “Really? I mean, I’m not afraid of you, asshole, gimme back my—“

Fast, Derek slides against him, arm around Stiles’s waist and when he opens his mouth, surprised, Derek kisses him, the KitKat held between their teeth.

He’s kissing Derek and eating a KitKat that _they’re sharing_ and oh my God, he’s dying, maybe he’s bleeding out in the forest and needs a HelloKitty band-aid, but nope, that’s milk chocolate on Derek’s tongue in his mouth, _oh my God_.

When they break apart, Derek’s still smirking, crunching the wafer in his teeth and Stiles swallows hard. 

“That is how I thank you,” Derek says, and that is one hell of a sexy smile.

Stiles approves. He approves so hard, he grabs Derek, kissing him, says against his mouth, “I’m only doing this for the chocolate, can’t waste a KitKat.”

Derek laughs, holding onto him, until they almost fall over.

**Author's Note:**

> Another gift. :) Title from "The Wolf" by Fever Ray because I'm terrible at this.


End file.
